A/N: I would have posted this earlier, but FF is throwing a fit. Ah well.

Sorry to the person who asked for another update soon 'cause of the cliffhanger. You may not like what I did hehe... Onwards!

Sherlock stood outside the abandoned warehouse in Ireland. The wind whipped his messy hair, tangling it further. The detective clenched his jaw and stared hard at the building, as if he could see through the walls if he just focused.

Jones came up behind him. "SWAT's going in first to scout out the area. I'll do the best I can to get you in right behind them, but no promises."

Sherlock gave him a tiny nod, and Jones walked away. The detective had not lifted his gaze from the old, falling apart building. Somewhere in there, John was waiting.

John.

OoOoOoO

John lay on the grimy floor, unable to move. Today was different. As he had been taken out of his cell, he had gotten a glimpse of Lestrade, who was being led down another row of empty cells. John had tried to silently catch his attention, but both of the inspector's eyes seemed swollen shut.

John squeezed his eyes shut as that day's torture began. He tried to dull his senses, to retreat into his mind and distract himself from the constant pain that wrecked his body. However, he was jolted out of his stupor when Moriarty's voice rang down on him.

"Alright, Johnny. We're doing something a bit different today," Moriarty said, smiling down at him and cleaning a knife with his shirt. "It's my turn."

John glanced in the corner where Moriarty usually sat, and saw Moran sitting there, smiling at him.

It was almost interesting to see Moriarty work. His face grew serious and calm. He was quiet, completely silent. When he got blood on himself he simply wiped it away without thought. But the most striking thing about him was his eyes. The dark brown eyes stared into John's as he cut him. He seemed to look into John's soul.

As the minutes dragged into hours, Moriarty seemed to cut every inch of his body that wasn't injured already – and some that were. John couldn't feel anything but pain – the cold floor seemed to disappear, and the stale air forced into his lungs felt like it had been replaced by pain. Simply pain. Every part of his being hurt – he ached and throbbed and drowned in his own blood.

Suddenly, it stopped.

Finally, there was a moment of peace. John's whole body stung with every pump of his heart, pushing blood through his veins, but the absence of a knife digging into him was relief. John relished it while he could, sucking in frantic gasps and letting a few pained moans escape.

Then he realized why the torture had stopped.

Drifting in through the walls, he could hear sirens. Men were yelling and car tyres were screeching. In the distance, John could hear a door slam. The sounds drew closer.

Moriarty stood up and smiled. Turning to Moran, he said, "Show time."

Moran came up to the two of them and kissed Moriarty on the cheek. "See you soon." Without glancing at John, he walked out towards the rescue team.

Moriarty grinned down at John and drew a gun from his coat.

There were a few moments of silence. The noises outside seemed to dull. John's breaths grew more even, and both men waited.

OoOoOoO

Everything had been calm. SWAT had searched every room they passed, silently going over everything with a fine tooth comb. Suddenly, a man had walked towards them. Shadows seemed to have thrown strange patterns across his face, but Sherlock quickly realized he was heavily scarred and had many tattoos. A tiger ran across his neck, its claws gripping his Adam's apple.

The man pulled out a gun from the back of his pants. He waved it towards the group of SWAT, and Sherlock.

"Go ahead, then," he taunted. "Shoot me."

With an ear-bursting noise, all the men shot him. He fell to the ground, dead, with bullet holes scattered over his whole body.

Sherlock shut his eyes. He'd seen many bodies in his career, but the adrenaline and shock of what was happening had started to get to him.

The team approached a door. It seemed to be the one Moran just came from. As Sherlock watched it, he heard a noise from inside from inside.

A gunshot.

Ignoring SWAT, Sherlock dashed forward and entered the room.

OoOoOoO

Moran was dead.

Moriarty and John had heard gunshots outside the door.

Moriarty turned towards John, gun still in hand. John lay on the floor, defenseless. He had been so close to getting out of that hell alive…Help was just outside the door...

As he watched, Moriarty grinned and pointed the gun at John. First his head, then chest, then finally settled on his leg.

John heard a loud bang that echoed off the walls and pounded through his ears. He felt a white-hot pain course through his body, starting at his leg, then pulsing through his veins. He saw blackness, and fought to hold onto consciousness.

The door banged open behind him, and there was silence for a moment.

"Moriarty," Sherlock breathed. His voice was deep and ragged, like he had just run a marathon. John breathed out a sigh of relief, then hissed as pain once again shot out from his leg. Sherlock was out of his vision over his shoulder, but John could see Moriarty out of the corner of his eye.

"Hello, Sherlock. Come to shoot me?" Moriarty asked.

John heard Sherlock hesitate, and Moriarty persisted. "Come on. I'm letting you kill me, Sherlock. I'll be out of your hair in a simple pull of the trigger."

When Sherlock still didn't respond, Moriarty continued. "Please, Sherlock. Just kill me. I don't want to be here anymore. Kill me like they killed Sebby. Please."

Still, Sherlock said nothing. John watch as Moriarty held up his own gun to his mouth.

"No!" Sherlock shouted, rushing forward. John shut his eyes just before another gunshot rang throughout the room, followed with the sound of a body hitting a stone floor.

For another moment, there was silence. John opened his eyes and let out a rasping breath. "Sh-Sherlock?" he asked quietly.

Within a moment, Sherlock was by his side. "It's alright, John. I'm okay. You're okay. Please, come on, look at me, please…"

"Sh-Sherlock," John gasped, his hand shaking as he cupped the side of Sherlock's face.

A few tears escaped from the corner of John's eye. John finally lost the last bit of his strength, and his hand fell from Sherlock's face. John allowed a small smile to creep up on his face, and the blackness finally took him over.

A/N: TBC. This story will be about 22 chapters +epilogue if all goes according to plan, so we're not done yet.

Also! The year anniversary is coming up soon. I can't believe I have only 11 chapters up. At this rate, we'll finish at about this time next year. Let's aim before that.